by Patti Larsen
I fell on top of him, clinging to him with our feet dangling over the mountain as his truck, finally free of the burden of me, pitched in slow silence forward and down, disappearing into the night without another sound.
We scrabbled to the edge, looking down, Crew’s arms around me, and together we watched it fall, a shiny white blob in the dark, as it struck the bottom, bounced, crumpled, barely visible in the night and distance, more sound than anything but enough to make my whole body shudder in sympathetic response.
“No boom,” I said. “Hollywood sucks.”
Crew met my eyes, his startled. And then, he laughed, hugged me. Together, rocking and embracing one another, we sank to the rock and just clung to the love between us for a long time.
“I’m so afraid for you,” Crew finally said. “I don’t know if I can live with it, Fee.”
I nodded against his chest. “Same here,” I whispered. “What would I ever do if I lost you?” It was hard to force myself to lean back, to look up at him and not be as close to him as humanly, physically possible. But this was important, more important than anything else. It could make or break us. “You have to live with it,” I said, knowing he had to be thinking about Michelle, about losing his beloved first wife, about going through that grief again. “Either one of us could get hit by a random bus, and you know it. I am who I am, Crew, and I won’t be wrapped in a bubble, not even for you. So if you can’t live with it,” I looked down at my hand, at the ring on my finger, “maybe you should take this back.”
He hugged me so hard my head hurt all over again but I didn’t protest, squeezing him as tightly as I could. “I never want that ring off your hand again,” he said, voice thick. “Not ever.”
When he kissed me, I knew we’d had this conversation for the last time. Better or worse? Came early for us, apparently. And I wasn’t complaining.
***
Chapter Thirty Three
I smiled at the departing couple who waved and left, dragging their bags behind them, exhaling over the rim of my coffee cup, sending a waft of steam in their direction. Things had settled into a more normal—yes, still hectic—pace of life with the tournament over and most of the guests for that event gone home with the arrival of Monday morning.
I touched at the bandage over my brow where I’d had three stitches to close the gap the frame of Crew’s truck left behind, wincing a bit and trying to remind myself not to do that since it hurt every single time my fingers explored the area. Yeah, because saying, “Don’t touch it, Fee,” was working. At least the aching headache and disorientation of a concussion wasn’t my lot this time around. I’d hit my head hard enough, the ER doctor said, to knock myself out but not quite enough to rattle my brains.
Not even Crew had the courage to make a joke about that.
When Jill arrived to back us up, a text sent via Leo’s phone since mine and Crew’s were missing, she found us still huddled together, though in the back seat of Leo’s rental, the killer himself bound with the roll of tape my fiancé dug out of the trunk, his body tossed inelegantly across the gear shift in the front.
I was happy to see her, though not so much Robert, and Crew’s instant reaction to their arrival—all professional and collected compared to the whisperings of love and devotion we’d enjoyed during our desperate snuggle—told me he was still just as devoted to his job. And fair enough.
Dr. Aberstock had tagged along and gave Crew the once over before looking at me. “Hospital,” he’d demanded, worry on his face enough to concern me, too, since he usually took so much in stride, including murder. “Now.”
Crew had grumbled he had a job to do and Crew had protested he was fine. But, in the end, Crew went to the ER right along with me. Even better, though we were both discharged after being assured we were very lucky to be intact, alive and without permanent damage, I’d spent the night curled up with Crew, Petunia between us, passed out in the arms of the man I loved and feeling safer than I ever had.
No nightmares even, despite the ordeal. Imagine.
I looked up as Tori and Tyler entered the foyer through the kitchen door, catching my attention with her laughter. She hung off his arm, batting those long lashes in his direction while he flushed and grinned back, looking happy enough. Her eyes met mine and a flare of guilt showed, or was that embarrassment? Didn’t matter to me any. Surely Tyler knew what he was getting himself into?
Even if he didn’t, well. Not my problem, was it?
The young golfer nodded to me, beaming. “Thanks for everything, Miss Fleming,” he said. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
I nodded back, smiling in turn. “I didn’t get a chance to congratulate you on your win,” I said. “Or the contract you signed with Petra.” She’d nabbed him immediately after the check was awarded, from what I heard, and he’d signed the sponsorship deal without further conversation. Well, that wasn’t my business either and I truly wished him well.
Speaking of the rep, she appeared with her own bags, ignoring Tori and almost shouldering her out of the way to get to Tyler. “You have another tournament next weekend,” she said, as if she owned him now. Huh, for all I knew, the contract he signed said she did. “We need to get you home so you can start practicing.”
He nodded instantly, eagerly while Tori scowled at both of them. I had a feeling this young, dedicated guy wasn’t the kind of man she was used to and wondered how long she’d last with someone whose whole life was the game and not her.
Might be a nice wakeup call.
I waved goodbye as the three left, marking off my other guest with a twist to my lips. Crew had arrested Hudson Harriet early this morning for illegal gambling, Jill taking his luggage away. I felt for the man, especially if his addiction had led him to such an end, not to mention the clearly horrible relationship he had with his step-daughter. But it was the fact Crew had moved himself into the periphery of Malcolm’s territory that had me more worried. Dad had often steered clear, and now I knew why. And though my fiancé hadn’t actually infringed since Hudson was an outsider, I had a feeling he would poke the sleeping Irish bear if the right circumstances arose.
I hadn’t had a chance to tell Dad or Malcolm about Siobhan’s call and wondered if the Irishman knew about her recovery. Regardless, Fiona Doyle was now at the top of my priority list. I was going to find out what happened to her and give my dad and her parents the closure they were looking for. And if she was out there, alive and safe, causing this much grief?
Well, maybe they’d never find out what happened to her after all.
Despite my determination to dig into Blackstone, the golf sponsor disappeared with their banner, not a trace of who or what or any indication of motives for the corps interest in Reading coming to light. No one at the course seemed to know anything, though if Alicia or Jared did they weren’t talking. And when I’d approached Petra for further deets, she’d reiterated she’d told me all she knew.
Frustrating? You better believe it. And set off all kinds of shenanigans in my need-to-know brain that meant I wouldn’t be letting go anytime soon.
I sighed as I sipped my coffee, noting the help wanted ad Norman Shively had posted. While a teaching pro’s position was specialty, Olivia made sure everyone in Reading got a regular email with job availability just in case. I wondered what Gavin would do now that he was a free agent.
Also not my problem. Look at me, letting people live their lives without my input.
Daisy joined me as I finalized the checkouts, her concerned expression gentle, fingers rising as if she wanted to touch the injury on my forehead but not making it that far. In fact, my own hand rose in response and she instead grasped my wrist and tugged to keep me from doing what I knew I shouldn’t.
I loved my bestie so much.
“So, you asked about Robert,” she said, voice down, expression slightly excited and amused. “I went fishing in Rose’s pond and got some tidbits.”
“Do tell.” The fact Crew hadn’t fired my irritating cousin had t
o have something to do with the council. Turned out I was right.
“Olivia kyboshed his firing,” Daisy said at barely a whisper, leaning close enough her dark blonde curls brushed my arm. “But Rose seems nervous, so I have a feeling dear Robert was given a final warning. Even the council can’t protect him from his incompetence forever.”
“This is Reading, Day,” I snorted. “You underestimate the ability of anyone in this town to actually give a crap when someone’s a danger to themselves and others.”
She giggled into one hand. “I just enjoy seeing Rose nervous,” she said, then sobered, looking guilty. “Does that make me a bad person?”
I laughed and hugged her despite the fact it made my head surge with renewed aching. “Oh, Day,” I said, “I love you.”
She beamed back, then hesitated, eyes suddenly worried, and opened her mouth like she wanted to say something. Just as my phone chimed, a text coming in. I didn’t mean to lose focus, to glance down at it, to break the moment in half with my lack of attention. But it happened, nonetheless, and Daisy’s smile returned while she waved off my protest at her sudden retreat.
“We can talk later,” she said. “And I love you, too, Fee.” Why did her voice sound so thick, suddenly? Daisy disappeared into the kitchen as I sighed and checked my phone.
I need to see you. Malcolm’s terse text wasn’t a command, but it wasn’t a request, either.
In a different mood? I might have ignored it, been angered by it. Instead, I called out to Daisy to man the front desk and headed for the door.
I needed to see him, too.
***
Chapter Thirty Four
I found Malcolm behind the bar at The Orange, leaning casually against it as if he were just a bartender and not the owner, or an Irish mob crime boss. Not sure which held more weight, to be honest. Regardless, he waved to me as I entered, enticing me to join him with the perfect pour of a beer from the tap in front of him, a welcome beverage he slid across the bar to me. Sure, it was only one in the afternoon, but it was already hot outside and I’d chosen to walk the blocks across town and enjoy the day instead of driving. Add a warm June afternoon to a redhead and you can imagine I was overheated.
As I sipped, I slipped onto the stool across from him, eyebrows raised while he poured one for himself and took a much more substantial sampling, smacking his lips when he was done. It was nice to see the sparkle back in his eyes, the wry smile he often wore returned to his face. There was an elfish quality to Malcolm, like he existed only because of legend and old magic, always intensified when he spoke in that delightfully lilting Irish accent.
Like now.
“Lass,” he said, drawing out the word a moment before shaking his head. “I want you to drop the investigation into my daughter’s disappearance.”
He… what? I forgot my beer, the heat of the day that still clung to me, my lingering headache. “Malcolm.” I couldn’t muster more than his first name.
The Irishman waved at me, face contorting into what looked like concern, gaze flickering to the bandage on my forehead. “I’ve lost one Fiona,” he said, voice soft for the first time since I’d met him, full of regret and worry. “I’d be brokenhearted if I lost another because I’m a stubborn old fool who can’t let go of the past.”
Wow. “Did Dad put you up to this?” Like my father could have convinced him, considering he’d spent years trying. “Or Crew?” Yeah, no one influenced Malcolm but Malcolm.
He didn’t respond, didn’t have to, tipping his glass to me and taking another drink.
“Of all people,” I said, suddenly irritated by his change of attitude. “Seriously. Don’t tell me you’re feeling protective all of a sudden, Malcolm Murray.”
He laughed out loud, a rich and happy sound, before setting his beer on the bar. I caught motion to my left, spotted his main bully watching, silent and still as always, though he was grinning at his boss’s shift in mood. Okay, so this was a good thing?
“You remind me so much of her,” the mob boss said, circling the bar to take a seat next to me, the knee of his jeans pressing into mine he was so close suddenly. I didn’t move, let him chuckle his way into resigned… wait, was that pride? “The daughter I wanted, Fiona, girl.”
Gulp. Okay, so this was weird and kind of awesome and very, very discombobulating all at the same time. “I have new evidence,” I blurted, reaching for his hand. His brows came together, fingers clasping mine as I rushed on. “I think she might be alive. Or was after she disappeared. Made it out of Reading.”
His shift in mood left me breathless, an eager hunger overtaking him. “You’re sure of that?”
I nodded. “My source seemed pretty confident,” I said, not sure why I didn’t just tell him it was his own Siobhan who gave me the information.
Malcolm sat back with a breath whistling through his teeth. From his expression he was clearly torn, though when he leaned in again, he was almost angry, frustration bordering on genuine fury.
“My girl,” he said. Stopped. Cleared his throat. “Why would she put me and her ma through such heartache?”
I had no idea, shook my head. “I’m going to find out,” I said. “So stop doing a one-eighty on me and help me already.”
Malcolm shifted once again, grinning a wicked little smile of co-conspirators about to do something naughty.
“Whatever you need,” he said, eyes burning with the obsession that had clearly ruled him most of the last thirty or so years, “you’ll have. You say the word.”
As I stared into his eyes, the question he’d asked rose to the surface of my mind like a bubble ready to burst and I found myself picturing the young assistant Grace Fiore had known as Libby Kim. A girl who had turned out to be Eve O’Shea, daughter of one of Malcolm’s own bosses in Chicago, who had fled from her family’s life of criminal activities. Could Fiona, in love and in possession of something of value—don’t think about the hoard, Fee—have done the very same thing but with enough resources and smarts to make her escape stick?
“My sweet Siobhan has rallied,” Malcolm said, though how he missed my mind turning I have no idea. He was usually observant enough to make me nervous. “I’d be forever indebted if I could tell her our wee lass is alive.”
Which meant Malcolm didn’t even know she’d called me.
“I’ll do my best,” I said, pushing the beer aside. “I’ll let you know if I need anything.”
He let me go while I pondered the woman he loved. I needed to talk to her again. Did she, too, suspect Fiona had fled her father’s line of work and the family that held his reins?
I spent the rest of the day lost in a fog of what ifs and maybes, a final distraction showing in the form of a wheelchair-bound woman who appeared in the kitchen shortly before the dinner rush.
I introduced my mother to Shani Bysh, the (Psychic? Paranormal investigator? Fraud?) shaking Mom’s hand with her small one before focusing on me. My mother, always astute, took the hint and went back to work while I gestured for the tiny woman to join me in the backyard.
She wheeled herself to a halt next to the koi pond and smiled kindly at Fat Benny who bobbed to the surface in hope of a snack, Petunia sniffing him when his orange mouth cleared the water.
“How goes the search for the missing woman, Fiona?” Shani squinted up at me, the sun in her eyes and I circled a little, sitting on the bench beside the pond so we were at eye level, something that made her smile all over again.
I shrugged, looking at my hands, not sure what to say. “A work in progress,” I said. “Can I ask, what is it you do with Alice again?”
Shani laughed, shook her head, light red braid twitching like a snake, the sunlight making her pale eyes translucent. “I just consult with her from time-to-time,” she said, like that answered the question. Hard not to spot the deck of Tarot cards in the pocket of her wheelchair, what looked like a bag of stones next to it. Runes, maybe? I knew little about the paranormal, outside what Alice told me. Come to think of it, I had
n’t seen my friend, or her boyfriend, in a while, not since she’d asked me if I’d be willing to chat with her about cases she was investigating. She’d never taken me up on it.
“I have nothing new to offer,” Shani said, as if she’d expected to share something, at least. “Not to do with the missing woman, that is. But I did find this,” she held out one hand, holding her closed fist up in front of me until I extended my own, palm flat, “in Oliver’s possession and knew it was meant for you.”
Something fluttered to settle against my skin and I gasped when I realized what it was. Another piece of the map, and this one with not only markings in black but with a single, thin line in red.
“I fear this mystery is lost on Oliver,” Shani said, winking. “But I do believe you have it well in hand.” She turned her chair, started to wheel away while I gaped at her and then chased her down, stopping her before she could reach the parking lot.
“Thank you,” I said, not sure what else to say.
“My pleasure,” she said. “While I have no proof of what it is you seek, I’m fairly certain I can guess. And I have a warning for you, Fiona Fleming, if you’ll heed it?”
I nodded, the map piece clenched in my hand. I didn’t want to hear, actually, but figured I owed this odd woman, if only for bringing me more evidence of the hoard.
“A time will come,” she said, reaching out to grasp my wrist, “when you have a choice to make. Whatever you decide will seal the fate of not just yourself, but this entire town. So choose wisely.”